


Mall Investigations

by PassiveIre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Mild Language, Multi, could be shippy if you choose to see it that way, mall adventures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PassiveIre/pseuds/PassiveIre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was the after lunch tea this time wasn’t it?” the doctor asks, frustrated and defeated. “How did you get the drugs in my drink between ordering at the counter and having the chap bring it out?”</p>
<p>“Not now, I’ll walk you through it later.” Sherlock shifts ever minutely closer. “I’ve narrowed the suspects down to this lot, now make yourself useful and analyze with me. The next attack is at half past three.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mall Investigations

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a collection of chapters based on a dream I had, taking place in a mall with the Sherlock characters. First story to publish here on AO3. Beta'd by ThisRedCat. (we're new at this!)

John Watson wakes up in a lowly lit room on a lumpy break room couch. It protests a bit as he sits up from slouching against the arm. His vision swims for a few moments before the blurs of colors turn into actual people. He blinks hard a few times. His head is aching like…

“Sherlock!” he hisses, turning sharply where he instinctively knows the detective will be. “You promised!!” 

Sherlock spares him an irritated glance, an arm’s span away, and then goes back to intently watching the other people. He’s bored by them, really, but still taking mental notes and discarding them just as quickly. He was _longing_ for something interesting to happen. 

“Really, John.” He drawls, “You know me better than that, surely.” Sharp blue-green eyes squint fractionally, and John is left wondering if the expression is irritation at his partner, or if Sherlock is picking up on something. Maybe both. Probably both. 

A scruffy looking mid-teen (Sherlock’s best guess at the moment—he’d have a better estimate if he could see the game the kid was playing) sneezes, wipes his nose on the sleeve of a baggy sleeve cuff, and goes back to thumbing furiously at his mobile. The twenty-something, plump bottle-blonde sitting against the opposite wall glares disgustedly. She’s recently been dumped, and started a diet four—no, three days ago, she cheated the first day and had chips. 

Dull. Sherlock’s attention continues on.

The business woman surrounded by shopping bags is cross and chattering on and on (to who, Sherlock cares not) about what a hassle it is to do all her holiday shopping on her lunch breaks, ‘and then have _this_ happen!’. 

Holmes is almost surprised the elder gentleman nodding off in the corner next to her isn’t stirring at all. Except to snore. He has a new puppy, Sherlock notes, probably ripping up the man’s couch cushions and slippers while the master is away. 

The elderly lady currently roaming in abnormal circles has done nothing but pace and mutter under her breath the entire time they’ve been ‘hiding’. Sherlock’s brain is trying to pinpoint what exactly is bothering him about this lady, when John pokes at his shoulder accusingly. 

“It was the after lunch tea this time wasn’t it?” the doctor asks, frustrated and defeated. “How did you get the drugs in my drink between ordering at the counter and having the chap bring it out?”

“Not now, I’ll walk you through it later.” Sherlock shifts ever minutely closer. “I’ve narrowed the suspects down to this lot, now make yourself useful and analyze with me. The next attack is at half past three.”

Ah, right. The “terrorist”. The person who has been calling Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade for weeks. A different public building every time. Each one, so far, safely evacuated before the caller’s allotted time frame of attack. John was under the assumption that whoever was causing such a fuss was daft for giving away the when’s and where’s. But Sherlock’s theory was that this game was all for attention. Lestrade just wanted to pass it on to someone else, but the caller would only speak to _him_ , the bastard. 

 

_~(e.a.r.l.i.e.r)~_

“Maybe the nutter’s got a thing for you, Inspector.” Sherlock half teased after that tired look stole over his friend’s face. Lestrade, who had been ignoring him until now, looked up with the epitome of all exasperated faces.

“That’s not even funny, Holmes. Now be helpful or get on, I have a mess of paperwork here because of this demented bloke.”

John sat in the Inspector’s other guest chair and grinned a bit, wondering if Greg knew that he looked almost _fond_ of Sherlock when they bickered. Wondering if Sherlock’s quips were to keep that long, weary look off of Greg’s face, or if the smartarse just did it for fun, grinning a little bigger. 

_~(n.o.w.)~_

 

“What are you smiling at, John?” Sherlock asks without taking his eyes off the other occupants.

“Oh, nothing.” John says, then a thought occurs, “How did you even get us all here? Drug _everyone’s_ tea, did you?”

“Hardly.” Holmes replies longly. “While you were out, I got Lestrade to announce that the _infamous terrorist_ had been spotted up by the fountain.” He rolled his eyes at ‘infamous terrorist’.

“After the call, but before lunch, I paid a few of my homeless acquaintances to roam around looking suspicious. The real culprit would be checking them out, perhaps looking smug or angry. Remember that tour of the ‘most likely places’ we took before tea? Picked a few likelies out of the crowd and had them herded toward this room. After the tea, Lestrade—in on the whole plan, mind you—carried you in here and made the announcement. Panic, panic, paniiic,” Sherlock waves his hand around boredly, “and here we are.”

John may be gaping. It surprises him that Sherlock Holmes can still shock him.

“And before you ask,” Sherlock leans a little closer to say quietly, “yes, it _was_ necessary to drug your tea to get you here. You’d never have agreed, and I needed you here, naturally. Saved us a row, and a load of time.” 

John shoots Sherlock another annoyed squint for good measure, pursing his lips, before concentrating on the ‘suspects’. 

“Personally I think it’s the old granny just there.” Sherlock mumbles, crossing his arms and easing back into the couch a bit more. 

John groans and holds back asking ‘why’, because ‘why’ is such a dangerous question with his friend.

Its forty-three minutes later when the terrorist reveals themselves. 

 

~~()~~()~~()~~()~~()~~

 

It was the granny. Or, rather, the almost thirty-something man disguised as a granny. Sherlock is irked it took him so long to notice.

“Out of the WAY!” he shouts, almost barreling into the fifth set of gawkers. Idiots, the lot! 

“Stop that man!!” John hollers from two paces behind him. “The one in the DRESS!” He continues for clarification, flinging an arm and pointing just in case he wasn’t being clear _enough_. 

Everything is noise and confusion. Blurs of colors and people, the different staccatos of clapping and squeaking of soles of the chasers’ and chasee’s shoes. Startled shouts and panting breaths and pulses pounding in ears.

Sherlock dodges a young mother with a mobile phone in one hand and a baby in the other. Spinning to eat up the speed in his abrupt stop, he snatches the electronic device out of her hand and hurls it straight for the escapee. 

Just as Greg Lestrade rounds the corner to tackle the fleeing figure. He _almost_ manages to do just that. There’s a collision of bodies and a sort of swinging ‘round dance step, but neither of the two men go down.

To his credit, Greg manages to catch a piece of trailing skirt before Sherlock’s projectile beans him in the cheekbone. 

“OI!!” Lestrade growls, dark eyes flashing fiercely with promise in Sherlock’s direction, only to have his attention yanked away when the man in the dress starts to struggle. 

“Christ, Sherlock!” John yelps in concern.

“Oh, I was aiming for the back of Granny’s head, it’s not my fault he got in the way!”

There’s a loud ripping sound, and Sherlock lunges to try and gain some momentum for the second part of the chase. 

 

~~()~~()~~()~~()~~()~~

 

Ultimately, John cuffs the bastard.

Moments before he had been checking on Greg because his partner’s long legs would eat up the floor faster than his ever could, heaving breaths and gulps had nothing to do with it, thanks. 

Sherlock took the man down somewhere around the foodcourt and was getting his pretty, damned face beat on when John nicked the shackles right off of Greg’s belt.

“Just so you know.” John grunts, “This is going to be one of my bad days.” 

Sherlock just groans a bit and rolls out from under and away from his attacker when John hauls him up. 

“Just don’t punch me in the face again.” Sherlock grits out, dabbing tenderly at his bleeding nose. 

“I ought to pop you for that stunt you pulled with my tea, come to think of it…..twice.” John grins at that. Mouth stretched wide, eyes crinkled, but Sherlock only sees the glint in his eyes that makes him skittish. Greg catches up with them, hollering almost immediately.

“Anderson! Help get those people to clear a stretch, yeah? And tell Donovan to bring the car ‘round, we’ve got an arrest to cart in.”


End file.
